


A Wintry Walk

by OllyJay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9307559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay
Summary: Jack reveals an admiration for the moors and Phryne is determined to indulge him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyschroeder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyschroeder/gifts).



> I hope it helps your recovery from my soulmate contribution : ) 
> 
> With endless admiration at the brilliance of Emily Bronte, I give you sweet Phrack - with just a touch of heat.

Jack stared out the window. The day outside was dark, wet, and grim- making the open fire even more satisfying then he had thought it a moment ago. He glanced around the pub, idly wondering at the stories of the characters who, like them, were sheltering here from the cold reality outside. He smiled when he caught sight of her at the bar, draping herself across it, fluttering her eyelashes unnecessarily at the barman, who nearly dropped their pints as a result. She turned, proud of her imagined conquest. He wouldn't tell her how the barman wiped his forehead in relief when she walked away.

"Here you go, Jack," she chirped, sloshing the pint down in front of him.

He grimaced at its dark colour and imagined the just below tepid temperature it would no doubt be. Despite her apparent determination to make him try every ale ever produced in England he was beginning to understand why Dickensian characters drank hot punch. "Thank you, Miss Fisher," he managed, forcing himself to swallow the vile liquid.

She chuckled at his obvious distaste, "You don't have to drink it, if you don't like it."

"No, it's good," he lied, "I'm just disappointed that there's only time for one."

At this she laughed outright. "You are quite possibly the worst liar I have ever met, and I have met more than my fair share."

To his amazement she continued to sip her pint as though she was actually enjoying it. "So, apart from sitting in pubs consuming the delightful local beverages, what else can you do in England in the winter?" he asked.

"Actually, most of the time I find its best to just sit somewhere warm and dry, and thank God you're not outside," she replied.

He nodded, that made perfect sense.

"I wonder," she continued, "if that's why there are so many wonderful English novels? What better way to spend these bitter months than dreaming of haystacks and pretty milkmaids?"

He considered her observation, "Perhaps, though neither have ever appealed to me. A pile of dry grass wouldn't be my first choice for a romantic liaison," he shot her a mischievous look, "nor a milkmaid."

Smothering a giggle, she challenged him, "Tell me then, what landscape from English literature interests you?"

"The Yorkshire moors," he said, without hesitation.

She raised her eyebrows, "Really? Because I imagine that they would be even more depressing than this."

"Bleak, I think, is the literary description," he corrected her.

She tilted her head in mock contemplation. "Yes, I think I can see a hint of Heathcliff about you," she waved her hand fancifully at his face, her barely suppressed laughter obvious, "just there around the eyes."

He turned to the window again. "If I had to be a hero in a novel, I'd rather the madness of thwarted love than the overheated ball rooms of Bath."

Oh, she thought, I can see it now.

*****

On a whim she bought tickets for the night train to Haworth and they arrived at the hotel in the early hours of the morning, collapsing exhausted into bed.

*****

Phryne woke up slowly, blinking and stretching, a smile forming as she turned to Jack, but he wasn't there. She glanced across to the chaise, nor were his clothes. That was unusual. She reached out for the travel clock, it was still horribly early, particularly considering the time they had arrived this morning. Rolling onto her back she let her head drop back on the pillow. Where was he?

Apprehension building, she sat up, eyes swinging to where they had hung their jackets last night. Only hers remained, and his boots were gone as well. She threw back the bed covers, grabbing her clothes. A flick of the heavy curtain revealed it wasn't snowing- good, she'd be able to follow his tracks. Hurrying down to speak to the Manager, in case he'd seen which way he went, her mind was churning through why he had abandoned her, everything she had said or done... places they had been... people they had met... She swore under her breath, she should never have brought him here, there was something about this place... Completely focused on her need to find him, when he walked around the corner, she ran straight into him.

Jack reached out to help her regain her balance. Her distress was obvious but he knew better than to draw attention to it. Instead, he kissed the top of her head, "Good morning sleepyhead, I've just been chatting to Mr Stone about the best way to walk along the moors," he carried on talking, giving her time to regain her composure. "He's arranging sandwiches for us and has promised, if we haven't returned by two o'clock, he'll send out a search party. I wasn't sure what time you would wake up so I've asked for breakfast to be delivered to our room."

He looked and sounded completely normal, and she couldn't quite recall why she had been so frantic mere moments ago. She shivered, filled with a strange longing for the heat and colours of Melbourne. He took his jacket off and placed it over her shoulders, keeping his arm around her as they walked back to their room to prepare for breakfast.

*****

The part of the path that was cleared was too narrow for both of them to pass so she settled in behind, using him as shelter against the bitter and unceasing wind. From time to time a smaller path would lead to the gate of some lonely house hunkered down against the elements. "Why in God's name would anyone live here?" she moaned.

He grinned to himself at her petulance and chose not to respond.

Eventually they arrived at a plateau. Reaching out his hand he brought her to stand in front, resting his head on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her. She stared out at the fields, despite the swirling snow being tossed about by the whistling wind, she could still see the occasional section of a stone wall, leafless tree, or ramshackle outbuilding. It was stark and made her feel achingly sad.

"Its exactly how I pictured it would be," he said, sounding slightly surprised, "empty and barren."

"And cold?" she suggested.

"Yes, and cold," he conceded.

He stood in silence for a while longer. Though there was nothing she admired in the view, she didn't mind waiting, the way he was holding her she'd stand here for eternity.

"There have been two times in my life when this is exactly how I have felt," he confided in her.

She nodded, she imagined that this is how he had felt after the war and when Rosie had left him. "After the war?"

"Yes, and when I thought it was you in that car."

She was so overwhelmed she couldn't speak.

A few minutes later he spoke again, "Lets go back, I've seen enough."

"No desire to hunt for the ghosts of lost lovers?" she teased, some of her normal spark returning.

"No," he chuckled, "my only desire is for the lover I have in my arms now." Tightening his hold, he rocked her from side to side gently. "You know, a beautiful woman once told me that in the English winter the best thing to do is to sit somewhere warm and dry, and be thankful that you're not outside. I'm starting to think she may have had a point." He stamped his feet to get some feeling back in his toes. "She's completely wrong about the ale though, that stuff is unspeakably foul."

She laughed, and he hoped that whatever had been on her mind earlier was passing.

*****

They made a picnic in their room of the food Mr Stone had provided. Afterwards, she sat at the window staring out into the gloom whilst he set about building a fire, though it was more to dispel what remained of her melancholy mood than for warmth. Eventually she felt him sit on the chaise beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I don't think I like this place much, its somehow oppressive," she snuggled into his side and he put his arm around her.

"If I promise that there will be no ghostly apparitions begging to be let in, will that help?"

She hit him playfully in the chest, "No, and stop trying to make it worse."

He began to stroke his hand down her back and she let herself relax into his warmth.

"That's nice," she mumbled.

"I can do better than nice, if you want?"

She smiled, "Please do."

He stood, holding out his hands to her, guiding her to stand beside the bed. When she went to unbutton her blouse he put his hand on hers, "Let me?"

Moving to stand in front of her he started at the bottom button working his way up. Then, gliding his hands under the blouse to her shoulders, he pushed it down so it slid gracefully down her arms to the floor. He lowered his head to place a line of kisses from her shoulder to her neck, "Tell me, Miss Fisher, do you choose your clothes based on the elegance with which they can be removed?"

"I do, though you're the first man that has ever noticed."

He chuckled somewhere just below her ear. He suspected that no one had ever spent as much time considering exactly how to remove each item in her extensive wardrobe as him either. Two years was a very long time after all. He felt her hands running through his hair, mussing it up in that way he knew she liked, and he let them guide him up so she could kiss him.

Her lips were soft and unpainted. She had worked out that when they were alone he preferred her without make up. It was one of the small gestures she made to show that he was different. Each concession though, added up to something that was larger than he thought she realised. He hoped that when she become aware of this she wouldn't run- but that was a problem for another day- for now he just let himself sink into the pleasure of her tongue against his.

Without breaking their kiss, he deftly undid the buttons on the side of her trousers with one hand, then used both to guide them over her hips. He was rewarded again with the satisfying sound of them sliding to the floor. She broke the kiss to step out of them,

"Have I ever told you how much I like your hands?" she asked.

His only response was to bring both hands up to softly cradle her silk covered breasts, running his thumbs across her hardening nipples as he claimed her mouth again, lapping her tongue in time with the movement of his thumbs, enjoying the small gasps this drew from her. He released one breast, moving his hand to find the bottom of her camisole, pulling it up until he could slip his hand under it to cradle her breast again, but this time skin on skin.

With a deep groan her head fell back inviting him to kiss her neck. Whilst availing himself of the invite, he slipped his other hand under her camisole, stepping back to ease it over her head, smiling at her protest at the loss of contact. He let the camisole fall to the ground, moving his hands down to her buttocks and pulling her in tight against him. "God, you drive me insane," he rumbled.

"But I'm being so very compliant, Jack. I haven't disagreed once," she gazed at him, wide eyed and innocent, as she moved her hand down to stroke him through his trousers.

"I like you when you disagree with me," he admitted, as he pushed himself against her hand. "I like that fire you get in your eyes, the way you nod as if agreeing, when all the time I can see those little cogs turning, working out how you're going to trick me. I particularly like that guilty look you give me when you're caught out."

"You devil, you!" she exclaimed, making to move her hand away but he caught it and pushed it firmly back.

"No, don't punish me. I can't help the way you make me feel," he moved her hand up and down his erection, his enjoyment of the friction becoming increasingly obvious.

She smiled, appeased by his admission, "Perhaps you can't. You could however help the amount of clothing you currently have on." She stepped away from him, removing her french knickers and lying on the bed, never taking her eyes off him.

"Unfortunately, I choose my clothes based on far more mundane properties than how they look as I disrobe."

"That's alright, it's what you look like disrobed, not how you do it, that I'm interested in."

He unbuttoned his cuffs and the top three buttons of his shirt before pulling it, and his singlet, over his head. He sat on edge of the bed to untie his shoes, slipping them and his socks off, standing to undo his trousers before removing them and his underwear.

She surveyed his lean body, the way his muscles rippled under his skin and, when he turned towards her, those cheekbones took her breath away. "Come here, Jack- I've spent enough time looking at you over the last two years, I want to touch you."

"Please do," he echoed her own words back at her.

"Do you memorise everything I say to you?" she asked.

"Not everything, sometimes you're so boring even I can't be bothered to listen," he teased as he lay down beside her.

She smiled at his cheekiness, "What's got in to you tonight, Jack?"

He shrugged, "I'm happy."

She raised her eyebrows, this was happy? It was pretty hard to tell the difference from normal to be honest, but maybe the eyes were crinkled just a little bit more and the smile did seem to be on his face a lot longer than usual. "I like you happy, be happy some more."

"I'm doing my best."

"Good," she said as she rolled into him, "I happen to know how exceptional your best is, so I have no doubt that you will succeed. In the meantime, why don't we focus on my happiness for a moment."

"You are a very selfish woman."

"You're right," she said as she pushed him onto his back, throwing a leg over him then sitting up, "however, the good news is that I'm willing to take you along for the ride."

He put his hands on her thighs, "Why don't you come up here?" pulling her towards his head.

"You really have the most exceptionally wonderful ideas," she said appreciatively, as she shuffled up resting her hands on the headboard, legs straddling him.

"My muse is exceptionally inspiring," he replied, running his fingers between her legs and licking his lips as he pushed his finger slowly into her, pulling it out before sinking back in with two fingers. He was surrounded by the scent of her and now he wanted to taste her too. Leaving his fingers within her, he reached out his tongue to lick where his fingers disappeared inside her, and up to her clitoris, smirking when he felt her involuntary jump. He kept up the deep steady thrusts with his fingers, letting his tongue roam until she was absolutely dripping.

"Jack," she was writhing above him now, "I need more," she pleaded.

He nodded, removed his fingers and lifted her leg so he could get up. "You might want to keep hold of that headboard," he suggested as he moved to kneel behind her, using his knees to spread her legs wider. He put one hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down slightly to change the angle of her hips. With his other hand stroking his cock, he gazed at her, for a brief moment he was sorely tempted to just carry on doing that until he came all over her. A frustrated whine brought him back to the moment and he blinked a couple of times, breathing deeply before he slowly pushed into her.

She pushed back against him and he dropped his hands to her hips to stop her going too quick. "Slow down, its not a race," he admonished, smiling at another frustrated groan. He leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm on the headboard, the other on her hip. "Slow and close, slow and close," he repeated in time with his thrusts inside her, trying hard to keep himself to the rhythm. When her movements started to become erratic he forced himself to stop, because if he didn't, it was all going to be over very quickly. "Shall I make you come Miss Fisher?" he offered, letting his hand drift from her hip across her belly and down.

She nodded her head as his hand found her clitoris.

"Like this?" he teased letting his fingers just rest against her.

"Damn it, Jack, touch me!"

"Ah, ah," he made to take his hand away.

"No..." she begged, "please?"

"Okay, seems you asked so nicely," he circled her clitoris with his fingers making her writhe against him. It felt so good to have her moving like that when he was this deep inside her that it took every bit of his self control not to buck his hips.

He dropped his head to breathe into her ear, "Does it feel good, Phryne?"

"Really good, it feels really good," she panted.

He spoke to her again, low and urgent this time. "It feels good for me too, so good I can't stay still any longer," moving his hips, he began to pump into her slowly as he continued to stroke her clitoris.

She placed her hand on the bicep of the arm he was using to brace himself, pushing herself back hard against him. She dropped her other hand to where his was stroking her, not touching herself but enjoying the feel of his hand moving under hers. "Good, Jack, so good," she repeated.

"It drives me wild, watching you touch yourself, when I'm inside you," he growled, "I swear I can feel you get wetter and hotter around me when you do it. Will you touch yourself for me now, Phryne? Whilst I have my hand on yours so I can feel what you're doing?"

She moved her hand to where his fingers were touching her, she pulled them back to where he was pumping in and out of her, intrigued he slowed down unsure what she was doing. She pushed his fingers up against the underside of his shaft so he could feel himself entering her and their fingers were coated in their joint slickness. The thought of both their hands there, where they were joined was almost too much for him and he found he had to stop again, gasping hard to calm himself.

Sensing she had almost pushed him too far, she brought their fingers back to her clitoris, showing him the pressure and speed she wanted most. He was amazed by how exciting it was knowing that, whilst she was impaled on his cock she was also using his fingers to make herself come. He began to hope she'd come soon because otherwise... She began to change the tempo of their fingers, faster, harder and he unconsciously increased his thrusts to match, then he felt her tighten around him and throw her head back.

He moved his hand up to encircle her waist, holding her until she came back down. When he felt her take her own weight again he made to withdraw, wanting to spin things out for her.

"No," she said, "shuffle back." She pushed him back until she was on all fours and not in danger of hitting her head. When she was happy she turned her head and told him, "Put your hands on my hips, I want you to take me hard and fast, Jack." When he hesitated knowing he wouldn't be able to last long like that, she clarified, "I want you to fuck me hard and fast, Jack. Now."

Whilst his brain was still processing her language, his body took over, because when you're inside a beautiful woman and she says that to you- it really doesn't require thinking. His fingers dug into her hips to hold her whilst his hips slammed in and out of her, hard.

"Yes... fuck me, Jack."

He couldn't quite understand why her language was exciting him but, as he continued to pound into her, he really didn't care. She felt hot and wet, and sliding inside her was exquisite torment.

"Harder!" she demanded, "Fuck me harder," she said, as she lowered herself down on her elbows so she was more stable.

Now he was pulling her back as he was pushing in, and it felt so deep he knew he wasn't going be long. He let himself drop forward on one arm, slowing the intensity but getting close to her ear. "Phryne, its feels too good I'm not going to last so I want you to come again, all over me, all over my cock." He felt her hips stutter and knew he had hit the mark. He straightened up, put his hands back on her hips and drove into her again. He thrust in deep and fast, panting, cursing and loving the sound of their bodies slamming against each other. Just when he knew he couldn't control himself any longer he felt her go over again and this time he let himself go as well.

He had barely enough presence of mind left to stop himself collapsing on her, instead falling beside her, panting, legs still entangled. He felt her roll away, moving to free her legs and so he summoned the energy to straighten his. When he had caught his breath he rolled over to find she was watching him.

This was new. From the start, if she was tired after they made love she would snuggle into him and just fall asleep. It had surprised him that she felt comfortable enough to do that and he made the most of the opportunity to hold her. If she wasn't tired though she would spring up from the bed almost immediately, which he always found slightly unnerving.

But something had changed five nights ago and now she had taken to just lying there, staring at him until they came to some mysterious mutual agreement that it was time to get up. He liked this much better and, whilst he would have liked to caress her, he held himself back worried she would find it too much. He was hopeful that one day soon she might actually reach across to him, but this was enough for now.

"Are you still happy?" she murmured.

"No, I'm ecstatic."

She examined him carefully, ecstatic apparently looked a lot like 'happy'. She wasn't sure that she would ever be able to read this infuriating man.

"And you?" he asked.

"I used to spend an inordinate amount of time wondering what it would feel like to be with you, like this."

He look at her surprised, "Really?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"It's every bit as intense as I always thought, it takes over everything until there's no room left for anything, or anyone, else."

He managed to control his face but he felt his heartbeat quicken and he fought to hold back his fear.

She reached out to rest her fingers on the side of his face letting her thumb run along his cheek. "It's incredible."

He felt the tightness in his chest loosen and gave her a half smile, "Not still scared of ghosts, then?"

She scoffed at him, "I don't believe in ghosts."

They lay there in companionable silence gazing at each other, he enjoying her soft caress and she reveling in the satisfying warmth she had come to know was contentment.

Outside the wind continued to whistle up the narrow lane, catching the hotel sign, swinging it back and forth. The constancy of sound was hypnotic and the movement of her hand became less and less, her eyes almost closed. Becoming fierce now, the wind sought out anything not fully secured, tossing it balefully into the air. Suddenly, there was a series of taps at the window and they both jumped. When the loosened shutter slapped against the window frame once more they looked at each other for a split second before dissolving into helpless laughter.


End file.
